The Slybats
by The Foxlady
Summary: New Chapter: One of the most embarrassing moments of Snape's teaching life comes when Phoebe Monroe as an accident is Potions class, and he is stuck explaining facts of life to the stone-faced Seraphine Selsior....
1. Year One: Enter The Slybats

The Slybats & Me:   
a Slytherin Story.  
by the Fox.  
  
YEAR ONE  
Enter the SLYBATS  
  
I remember clearly how it rained, like the sky was falling, that day so many years ago. Hagrid has just came with the   
first years, and I glared at them, wondering how thick their dreaded little brains were. Even if I've taught three years,   
that was my first year as the Head of a House, and I wasn't looking forward to the charge of a ton of dumb babies.   
I saw her there, even if I didn't paid her too much attention till the Sorting hat yelled her name, the first one in go to   
my newly- named domain, the House of Slytherin. Sure the half of those kids would have been retired from the school   
faster you can say "AZKABAN!" if they knew the Potions master, Dumbledore's left arm and just-named Head of   
Slytherin House was an ex death Eater. Fools. Good for them and their colons they never know.  
The girl, the first to be called a Slytherin that year gained for it a slightly more detailed inspection that the rest, I   
remember. She had a mane, which was the word to describe it: a wild amount of yellowish-golden-white-bronze hair,   
a fey mix stumbling around his shoulders and back. She wore the black robes fairly well, being taller than some boys,   
but his face was obscured for the long hair, letting only a pair of big dark blue eyes emerge. I remembered to have   
thought she would give McGonagall lots to do, for his defiant stare, and her way to occupy the chair, all defiance.   
She looked just like the Shrew, one of my favorite plays of the immortal bard, and I chuckled to myself, picturing a   
Minerva with a beard trying to be Petruchio…  
Her name was Seraphine Selsior.   
I remember too her eyes peeking from the group of seven boys and two girls. We always had the lowest girl-rate from   
the Sorting ceremony, I suppose that is because the rareness of breasts+ brain there outside, even if Minerva says its   
more like the matter of evilness+stupidity+maleness vs superior female attributes. Suit yourselves, crowd.   
I gave them the usual lecture and welcome to the Serpent's Nest, the Slytherin House Headquarters. They picked the   
dorms they would be like to use for the seven-year length of their stance, and I even remember which ones they took:   
the Oak the boys and the Cedar dorm the two girls. Seraphine's partner was Phebe Monroe, a spicy, laughing black   
haired girl from the Monroe family fairly in-parentage of mine: my second-grade cousin was married to one of her   
third grade aunts… anyway. In the male group, there was Deimos Malfoy, that blonde nose-in-the air oldest son of   
Lucious, Terrance Avery, the little brown braided hyper Quidditch fan and Marcus Flint, that tall troll I foresee future   
Quidditch captain. I remember that group rather fondly: they were one of my first works as a teacher, and they had a   
special magic even from first year. And even as years passed, I never had other class so close at my heart.  
Now, years later, my only remorse is to not have appreciated them when they were next to me. They were the Slybats,   
the first and only answer to the Gryffindor's Marauders, and they had put to rest evenly bitterness long time held for   
Slytherin and me. They became legend. And best than it, they became my pride.  
But I'm hurrying things and I want to recall these days with all the care I can, like the look of old photos I still   
treasure. I want to look at my memories as carefully as I am able in these last days of mine. I want to remember in the   
infinite-faced, eternally shining gem of my past…  
  
The first class we had it was the first time I truly put some attention to Sera… she was still Selsior to me.   
And like always, it was all Neville Longbottom's fault.  
It was my mistake, I took my eyes from him a millisecond and he pounced down his cauldron with a flick of his   
incredibly clumsy hand. I swear, I'm thoroughly happy that Frank and his wife aren't sane to see the wonder they   
fathered: the boy couldn't be clumsier if he done it in purpose. Yes, I'm cruel. Sue me.  
But I remember even he surprised me when he managed to bath Seraphine Selsior with the Eating Acid Potion. My   
heart jumped to my throat, I concede you, ready to see a girl became a tiny smoking mess in the floor. I was young   
and foolish: I must have remembered it wasn't a chance between billions Longbottom had done the Potion right. I   
yelled an appropriate charm to impermeabilize the girl, and them pulled a can of Dragon's Drool over her. It was   
disgusting, but an effective way to save her from a mixed poisoning that it would take a week to antidote. Then I   
carried her levitating with my own wand to Poppy, and it wasn't till I handed the girl to his hen-like high-pitched   
yells, I was aware the girl hadn't said a word.  
- Are you all right?- I asked, fearing a girl-worth shock, great things two XX in your genes do to your mind. But she   
only nodded at me, no fear nor pain in her eyes. I thought I saw a flicker of something in her eyes, but I dismissed it   
like a glint of tearful wails coming. I retire quickly to let Poppy deal with it- whiny first-years girls never where my   
teacup- and I came back, grinning to myself in anticipation to nail Longbottom's clumsy ass into my office's wall. A   
bloody Auror's ass, oh glee.   
At lunch, when the girl came pale I only took a peek to see she was alive and in one piece and then went back to my   
food. But I noticed some stares, and suddenly knew the difference: Ms Pomfrey had cut the splendid mane short,   
shorter than mine in a boy-like cut that made her taller and thinner.  
And I haven't imagined that glint, and it wasn't my imagination, it seems, when the girl walked with firms steps to the   
Gryffindor's table, took the steaming corn soup plate from the table and with even firmer hands emptied it into Neville   
Longbottom. I stood aghast for a moment as everybody else, and suddenly the Slytherin table cheered loudly: I saw   
Malfoy and Monroe clapping, Flint and Avery whistling.   
I almost did. I had to hide my smile in my cup when Dumbledore eyed me, and I only murmured that she had been   
seriously provoked.  
And it was thanks to Neville Longbottom that the Slybats were formed. And that was enough to justify his inane   
existence in this planet, so I think I mustn't have scorned him too much after all.  
I gave her a nil detention in the Serpent's nest, one hour. But I ordered her to go to see me in the morning, at the   
unholy first hour in my office, and she nodded. I couldn't but notice the way her eyes shone without the mane   
obscuring them, like two twin blue gems with green and violet shades. I'm afraid I couldn't help but smirk at her when   
I gave her that lecture to make Dumbledore and McGonagall happy…  
She looked like a boy the next day when she entered to my office, next morning. I was suppressing a yawn, because I   
had sweet dreams thanks to her: no, no that type, you perverts, she was twelve, but dreams of myself pouring boiling   
potions over Potter, Black, Pettigrew and Lupin by turn, laughing like a madman, and dancing around in chibi-size as   
they became slimy gore. Sweet dreams. Then I started pouring soup over the whole Aurors autocratic bunch and the   
Corny Minimagic…  
- Ahem.- I pointed to a seat, but she stood, straight like an arrow, no fear or nervousness in her stance. I heard voices   
outside, and I strained my ear.  
- Someone waiting for you outside?-  
- No.- she said with a clear, calm voice I liked.- Sir.- she added after a moment of thought.  
I walked loudlessly and opened the door quickly. Three boys stumbled and fell face first into my carpet, and then   
jumped into their feet so quick they seemed to have rebooted.  
- SIR!- they hollered. Avery, Malfoy, Flint. I'm sure they knew each other from the nursery, being their parents part of   
my own circle, Death Eaters Inc. Surely, if I've been caught-after-shag as they did – not too clever, but by the way   
they were Death Eaters to the end, so what you can expect- the product of my clumsiness would be the fourth there.  
Deimos was a mini picture of Lucious, but without the moustache. His blonde hair was perfectly cut, his robes the   
finest black silk: he was a Malfoy from head to toe, his smile always slightly insulting. Marcus was taller of course, a   
boy made to ride a broom, his well-muscled body clearly defined even in his shaggy and rumpled robes, the collar   
unbuttoned, his untidy hair in a porcupine-like brown mess. And Avery, tiny thin cat he was, was already moving, his   
impulsive hyperness making him shook his head to move his brown braid around like a cat's tail, his spicy grin back   
in place.   
- I suppose you were all leaning in my door by sheer casualty, I am wrong?-  
- Yes, Sir.-  
- Hai hai, sir.-  
- Of course, Sir.-  
I eyed them, and the three defy my gaze a while. Good. Malfoy was the last one to drop his gaze. Sera was still and   
quiet behind me, very calm. I was getting to like the girl, even if she seemed to have no more life that my desk:   
probably, less.  
- Since you are so eager to know about Miss Selsior's punishment, you can as well to share it with her. You'll have   
detention this night after dinner, in the Potion's classroom - They all nodded, and I added.- Tomorrow at eight I'll see   
all you after class. You are dismissed now, and Miss Selsior…?-  
- Yes, Sir?- she said, her quiet, calm voice monotone. I eyed her searching for a mocking smirk, but her face was   
blank. Too much, in fact: I remember I thought she maybe was a bit mental and wondered why the Sorting Hat gave   
her to us.  
- Try to not bath anyone with soup again.-  
That lunch, Sera bathed Longbottom with grape jelly.   
I laughed my ass off in private. It was going to be a fun year.  
  
The detention was a very light one, I never gave to my Slytherin children so much trouble, and I left them a while   
revising the lessons as I went to chuckle alone a bit, still amused for the funniness of her blank face and her violent   
actions.   
- Do you think is funny, Severus?- McGonagall caught me snickering and eyed me with distaste. I did my best to not   
nod happily.- If you can't talk to her, send it to me, that type of violence is not to be allowed in Hogwarths!-  
- She's a Slytherin, so I'm in charge of her. And I'll talk to her into… contain her natural responses.- I promised   
myself to talk to her, no matter how funny it was, mostly for my sake because I knew that if she baths Longbottom with   
hot tea the next morning I would piss in my seat from too much repressed laughter.  
- Natural? Neville has been scolded TWO times for that insane vengative girl!-  
- She lost her hair for his fault.- I eyed Minerva and supressed agrin, looking her bush-like black hair so tightly tied.   
She tied it with help of a Potion each morning but I've seen her without it and she looked like a monster.- I thought   
you'll understand something like that, Minerva. It's a girl thing, and after all, it was * beautiful* hair.-  
She left me, nose in the air. Funny. * Insanely * funny.  
A crash and a boy' scream make me run back to the dungeon I left the boys, wondering if the girl had bathed   
someone else. But when I entered the dungeon, something big slapped me in the face and I lost my wand. I heard   
Minerva running behind, and her terrorized scream.  
I recognized it from the floor: the Shrinking Snake. How they managed to drop and break the jar containing it and   
free the beast I use for a lot of antidotes, I never knew: I supposed it was secure in the deepness of my Potions closet.   
I was wrong.   
I used it in his shrunk form of three centimeters, but breaking the highly durable, charmed glass jar they freed the   
serpent to his real size of thirty meters.  
I saw Terry Avery bleeding in the floor, mouth open. Marcus Flint was knelt in his side, trying to carry him in his   
strong arms. Deimos was standing before them, with Sera Selsior in his side, his blonde eyebrows together, speaking   
to the serpent in pársel: but the Grey snake is a class particularly vicious of ophidium, and I saw it was ready to   
attack. With a groan I saw my wand in the other end of the room, and as I sat, my eyes found Deimos Malfoy's.  
He gestured just with a little movement to Sera, Avery and Flint, and I saw their eyes glint. And they moved in synch.  
Deimos yelled a charm to the serpent. Flint and Sera jumped against the serpent, and as they pushed away the   
Serpent momentarily stupefied for Deimos's charm, Terry moved like a tiny monkey, grabbed my wand, and threw it to   
my hands.  
- Trampernova!- I yelled. The charm made the serpent to roll and stay tied like a soft lasso. I turned to them, but   
before I've said anything Terry was in his knees, still panting.  
- It was me… they aren't culprits… I broke the jar… I'm sorry…-  
- Shut up, Terry.- Deimos said, very calm.- It was an accident.-  
- You all…- I looked at them, still in my mind the way they worked together instinctively.- You'll going to help me to   
make the Shrinking Potion needed to shrink this beast to good size again, and then, you'll get a detention.- I said.   
And suddenly I had to suprise a grin.- But not in this room, that's clear.-  
Flint and Avery chuckled and then sobered quickly.   
  
Each one had their particular traits, their particular asignatures, too. Deimos had what I call the Measurement   
instinct: Not only in Potions, but in life. He was always calm, always filled with the quiet energy of his family,   
something Draco lacks greatly. He has the perfect instinct to make a Potion right, how to compensate and mix, how to   
make it work. Exquisite care and intelligence, the ideal Potion maker with the long and sensitive hands needed. He   
was able to know, just like me, just by touch how was the Potion going, something I never saw in students, a gift very   
rare and uniquely Slytherin till now.  
Terry and Marcus were Quidditch freaks. Marcus was no doubt the best Keeper we ever had, and not only for his tall   
frame and quick reflexes. He has the team spirit needed: he was able to pull Terry's hyperness, Sera's aloofness,   
Deimos's coldness, Ulyses sarcasm and Phebe vanity to be a group. He was friendly and open, something you don't   
see usually in a Slytherin, and had an incredible charm. Maybe based in the fact he was always worrying for others.   
Despite his big frame, his knotty hands, he was as caring and tender like a mom. The Gryffindors always called him a   
troll: nothing more far from truth. If something, he was a caring bear. No wonder he was Hagrid's friend, and his   
favorite course was Care Of Magic Creatures: caring for others came to him naturally, like breathing. Even the   
unicorns accepted him, but I remember he was able to tame a wild medusa simply singing to her with his horrible   
voice… And he was handsome too, with a wilderness, a relax in him: his hair, which I let him grew till his shoulders   
after he won his first Cup, it was a dark bronze, and his smile wide and sincere under big golden eyes. He was the   
purest heart between them, something that made his destiny maybe the cruelest.  
Terry was the most unbelievable annoying boy I met. He was simply UNABLE to stay quiet. He moved, whirled,   
danced, jumped, grabbed anything in sight, talked a mile per minute, and to put in plainly, he made himself the terror   
of teachers. Potions were something I never was able to teach him, no matter how hard I tried. He was Minerva's   
desperation, too: but he had a strange skill in Trelawny's class, and he was the favorite of that impostor, being able   
to pull the difficult Divination prophecies with deadly accuracy from first year. In that class he was almost   
unrecognizable: he was calm, and he talked slowly, making his natural beauty show: with his hair down and his eyes   
closed, he looked a lovely young girl. I never knew if Trelawny used a spell or a drug-enhanced incense, but she   
actually made the boy calm. Of course, she simply loved him. It was a great, wild talent in these: but everything paled   
at his skill with the Snitch. He was the best Seeker we ever had, and I grew accustomed to see him zoom past my   
window in his Nimbus 1900 following a golden sparkle, him a blur of green with his long braid whipping behind him.   
I let him too use his hair long: without his braid, I'm sure he would have lost his equilibrium. It was like a cat's tail,   
and now I miss the way it slapped me everytime he whirled after a bow, in the thousands of detentions I gave to that   
little pixie. It slapped everything in close, teachers, food, broomsticks, but miraculously never got trapped anywhere,   
except, I must said, Deimos's hand.  
Phebe was the expert in transfiguration. She was Minerva's best student from the start, and the way she antagonized   
her was an endless amusement-fount for me through the years. She was brilliant and a very good reserve Chaser too:   
but the most part of Hogwarths remembered her, unfairly if you ask me, mainly for her starting beauty. She was pretty   
at twelve, but at fifteen, when she started to develop her femininity she became a breathtaking sight. She had raven   
hair, bright brown eyes, and the curvaceous, female figure so smooth it was rumored she used transfiguration charms   
in it. But it wasn't true: she was natural, and joyful. Me, I remember better the sharp intelligence she had under all   
that beauty sheen, and better that that, her spicy smile when she pulled one over the Gryffindors. Her laugh, and how   
she turned the boys into gentlemen with her plain femininity. She was the Slytherin lady, and that is my best praise to   
that girl with heart of dove.  
Sera was her anthitesis, and no one was more surprised than me when they became sister-like friends. They loved   
each other dearly, lively Phebe and dead-like Sera: Sera was silent, and almost everybody, even the teachers assumed   
it was or mental or arrogance. They were so wrong! My dear Sera was shy, painfully, crazily shy! Deimos and Phebe,   
Marcus, Terry and Ulyses performed a miracle in Sera, making her dead eyes become alive with their friendship. Sera   
had a horrible story, and she touched my heart with her pain. So, no one was happier than I for the change she had,   
from that hurt young child to the grinning, smart girl she was. She never had Phebe's beauty, but she had her charms   
too, a pale, dream like complexion that hide a surprising strength, and as soon as she have her mane back again she   
became a pleasing young lady. Slanted eyes of blue, pale rose-colored lips, and serenity in her gaze: that was her   
beauty.  
And she was a good reserve Beater- the fact why we usually doesn't have girls in our Quidditch teams, my dear little   
minds is, unlike Gryffindor, we not only have few girls but, we CARE for there. We're gentlemen, mind you, and a   
broken jaw is nothing we would expose one of our dear ladies unless it was real necessary. Not sexism here, idiots,   
but GENTLEMALENESS, or must I say just Maleness with capital M? Oh, I'm so bad: whip me.-   
Her favorite subject- and the one in she became legend- was DADA, having very un-Hogwarths skills in black magic.   
Voldemort would have loved her: she was able to perform the Unforgivable curses in fifth year, and she could have   
been a terrific Death Eater. But her eyes always softened next to her friends: her loyalty and love, even after all she's   
been through it was so amazing, so touching. I loved her dearly, and more or less I adopted her as mine those years.   
No father can be as proud as I am, from them all. They warmed my heart. They made me laugh.   
Ulyses Graham didn't joined to him till second grade, coming from Beauxbatons. He was calm and collected, those   
boys that born for books: he could have put that Granger know-it-all to shame. Everytime that damn girl spoke, it sent   
a pang of pain to my heart: she remembered Ulyses to me. And how I miss that boy, his quick, incredible mind. He was   
dearly loved for all the teachers: quiet and intelligent, he was the Annual Medal six years in a row. He had shining   
gray eyes, black hair brushed back, and his favorite subject and the one he made his was History of Magic, where he   
could put Binns to rest. He was amazing in it, a living encyclopedia of data: but he loved music too, and Dumbledore   
loved him back for it. He was a reserve Beater, and I still chuckle remembering how he and Sera was always at odds.   
Little they knew what that mean, till they grew older. But I knew, years before them. Lucky bloody boy.   
Sometimes they put me frantic, sometimes I would have killed them with glee. Sometimes they made me cry, or laugh so   
hard I cried. But I loved them. My Slybats: my favorite Slytherin story. 


	2. Year Two: Becoming Slybats, Part One.

The Slybats & Me:   
a Slytherin Story.  
by the Fox.  
Authors's notes: many thanks to my dear Furious! I am happy you revised my story. Well, Deimos is NOT Draco Malfoy, but his brother... older, obviously. I know I shouldn't have used Neville, but I couldn't resist. This is a lot of years before Harry, so Snape is quite a unexperienced teacher, as you'll see in this chapter. And I'm sorry I had to raise to R, because strong words and mention of menstruation. So, enjoy Snape in on of the more embarrassing moments of his life as teacher...  
Yours, the Fox.  
YEAR TWO-Part One  
Becoming SLYBATS  
  
In the first year they met and made friends, but they didn't became the Slybats till Ulysses came, in second year, a   
transfer student from Beuxbatons. When they arrived the second year, Sera was still mute, Deimos was still alone,   
Phebe was still a little vain girl and Terry an insufferable hyper demon. I watched them with interest, Marcus already   
making friends with Terry and keeping the little pixie out of trouble. But when I saw the new boy go on and sit in the   
place reserved openly for Deimos Malfoy, I smelled trouble. No way that arrogant git Deimos was, because under all   
he was still Lucius's son, would take well that French boy trying to take his place. When Deimos arrived, I remember   
late that night because he had caught a cold in the trip and he has went to see Poppy, his pale blue eyes sparkled. I   
was tempted to see how they would handle it: I forgot they just had thirteen years.  
- Excuse me, that's my seat.- Deimos said with his arrogant stare. Ulysses peeked him from under his glasses, and said   
with that smart-ass, nerve-itching French accent of him:  
- Really? What's your name?-  
- I'm Deimos Malfoy.- he said, with the same tone he would have said " I'm God"  
- Well, it's not imprinted anywhere.- Ulysses said nonchalantly and went on eating. I suffocated my laugh, but then I   
had to jump into my feet when Deimos took a firm hold in Ulysses's neck and shove him back in the chair, onto the   
floor.  
- Malfoy.- I said, but Ulysses yelled in mid-air:  
- PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!-  
Deimos deflected it and it fell over Terry and Phebe. The both fell like stones, and I hurried: a Petrificus is just   
uneasy to catch, but when repelled it doubles the strength. As I have guessed, Phebe was handling it well, but Terry   
was fighting it, terrorized of being restrained, and he barely could breath.  
- YOU JERK!- howled Marcus and fell over Ulysses: they rolled in the floor, and Ulysses, being shorter and weighting   
half than Marcus was object of a throughout punching. I carried Terry and Phebe myself to Poppy. Phebe just   
needed a counterspell I made quickly, letting her resting a second, but Terry had fell into hysterics: was then when I   
got to know about his imprisonment panic. When a year later, Filch decided it was good to lock the poor boy into a   
cage-cell for an afternoon, he almost killed himself in hysterics, trying to get out and peeling his nails off. I remember   
carrying him to Poppy that time, furious and horror-stricken, restraining myself to doesn't kill Filch! He looked like a   
child in my arms, crying brokenly and openly in terror, clinging to my shoulder. It tore at my heart, and to protective,   
fierce instincts I never knew I had. After that, I yelled and terrorized Filch so much he had never dared to touch one   
of my children anymore.  
  
I yelled thoroughly to Deimos and Ulysses that time: I remember having called then vain idiots, useless, vulgar and   
arrogant asses. I pointed they had hurt Phebe and Terry, housemates, and a girl and a younger boy by sheer   
stupidity, and finally claimed the right of them to sort their differences in private, out of my sight and without harm to   
others.   
I sent them out still yelling, and gave them the hardest detention I never gave to them. I thought they would spend it   
sparring in the floor, but I should have had more faith: they made a cold amend, and even if they always had their   
differences, as much as focus and thinking, they, years after made that an asset. They spent the detention making   
boxes of candy to Terry, and excusing themselves to Phebe and Marcus. When I saw Ulysses next day sitting between   
Phebe and Marcus, I couldn't believe my eyes, and then, smiled.  
In the end of the table, Deimos, Phebe, and Sera. In front, Ulysses, Terry, and Marcus. They never altered their seats,   
and still now I always see in my memories Sera's blond mane outlined by Phebe's raven black hair, and Terry's braid   
from behind Marcus's wide shoulders. I remember their sets of eyes in me. I remember too much, I fear.  
  
My love for Phoebe and sera came first. It was in a very silly situation, but it was too one of the most terrifying   
seconds I've had in my teacher's days, and I still laugh at the memory. It was too the day I bumped my head on my   
wall for two hours straight, embarrassed, furious, and laughing. I was an idiot.  
It happened few days before Christmas break. I was taking the Potions partial test in a dungeon that was too cold,   
maybe, for girls with that ridicule short skirts. I've never understood what is with those skirts: they should wear long   
robes too to keep them warm, for what I know it could interfere a woman's fertility. But I disgress.  
They were, of course, bent over their desks, filling the blank parchments with some inane rambling, in some cases,   
and with truly brilliance in Demos or Ulysses' case. The both were, by the way, sat just behind Phoebe, who was sat   
next to Sera, and Marcus and Terry were in the bottom line.   
I passed them, and I remember to have noted Phoebe looked pale, and had her eyes shadowed by a bit of pain. My   
memory remorse now myself, because I've thought she was ready to burst out crying because she hadn't studied   
enough, silly spoiled brat she was. I called time off then, and when I took the parchments away, I remember Sera   
looking at Phoebe worriedly. It was so strange to see any emotion at all in her face, that I stole a glance to Phoebe as   
everyone was filling out to leave as fast as they could the cold stone classroom.  
She stood, swayed, and suddenly looked at me with panic-stricken eyes. I looked at her, and I saw a splash of red in   
her seat, her skirt dripping, her legs bathed in slimy liquid, a pool slowly forming where she was standing. My heart   
leaped into my throat. The pool was so large!  
She fainted, and it was Sera who did a mad grab for her, splashing herself, her student's high socks sponging the   
blood as she kneeled with her, going white, widen eyed. Deimos and Ulysses stayed, mouths wide, and Marcus and   
Terry stared, Terry covering his mouth not to shout: he hated the sight of blood violently. They stared to me then,   
panic in their faces. Thankfully, most of the class as went out.  
I remember running to their side, lifting Phoebe in my arms, feeling her skin clammy, cold. I remember shouting them   
to bring Madam Pomfrey, and how Terry simply zoomed to the infirmary, panicked, Sera face pale and streaked-with-  
red because she had took her bloodied hands to her mouth. I remember Ulysses skillfully clearing my path in the   
hallway to the most discreet place near, my office, and Marcus arranging a couch and a chair as improvised stretcher   
with a flick of his wand, but pulling and nesting cushions by hand., helping me to nest Phoebe there, pale a s ghost,   
mumbling about pain and grabbing her midsection and lower abdomen with tears of agony.   
I remember panic, as I've never met as her blood bathed my leather sofa, and she kept bleeding.  
Deimos muttered a spell, and the fireplace roared into life, warmness bathing my already sweating back. I didn't care   
about proprieties when I lifted her skirt, finding her underwear and thighs red with warm, thick blood, and I had the   
sinking feeling she would die, bleeding in my arms. I hadn't a clue of what happened, but horrible visions cluttered   
my mind: violation, abortion, and some horrible charms. Deimos and Ulysses looked away when I pulled her   
underwear out the way and spread her legs widely, but Marcus and Sera helped me. Marcus was stroking her   
forehead, tears in his face, and Sera with her face stone-cold again, trying ineffectively, pathetically, to clean   
Phoebe's skin with a tiny handkerchief already soaked.  
I felt my heart stop when I saw her little, virgin femininity ooze blood in rivers. I remember something nagging at the   
ends of my mind, but I was too panicked, even if years after Deimos assured me I had been the very epitome of   
calmness.   
Phoebe opened her eyes, and looked at me, there, leaning over her, her legs totally opened, bare to me, vulnerable in   
everyway, and I saw the call of help in her eyes, I saw her fear and her certainty that I could help her, save her, and I   
felt…  
… I haven't felt like that frequently: but looking at her trusting eyes, the way she was vulnerable, the tears she shed, I   
felt impotent and desperate to help her. I touched her abdomen, calling a charm to stop the pain she was obviously in,   
and then I heard:  
- PROFFESSOR SNAPE? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?-  
Never, ever, I was so happy to see that old hen. Madam Pomfrey shooed everyone of the room, except me, but I stood   
in a corner and I heard her busying around my poor Phoebe, soothing and helping, saying things I didn't heard,   
apparently helping her with some charms. She sent Terry for a cordial with a very rare name I never heard of, and   
gave Phoebe a steamy cup. Then she covered the sleeping, bloody girl with a magical produced blanket, and called   
for a magical stretcher.  
- How is she?- I asked, pale and shaken.  
- She is fine.- she answered, nonchalantly, a twinkle in her eyes. The old hen never feared, never respected me: she   
used to cure my frequent head colds and more frequents brawling battle scars, courtesy from Potter et al, when I was   
a student.   
- Fine? She was bleeding from her goddammed cunt!- I yelled, more scared I realized. Then, my own words struck me,   
and Madam Pomfrey looked at me severely, one eyebrow raised.  
- We call it *menstruation*, thank you very much.- she said indignantly.- The poor dear seems to have not been   
warned beforehand. And she had a tricky first bleeding, poor one.-  
I gaped. That seemed to amuse her.  
- I've thought you would be more prepared, being the House Master of several young ladies…- she smirked.- Well, it   
seems your good grades in medical magic, all those years ago had been a bit overestimated…-  
She was menstruating. I almost fell down in embarrassment.   
Dope.  
Idiot.  
*Jerk*.  
Since then, I not only prepared and kept a permanent supply of Cinnamon Witches' Those Days Warming & Painless   
Potion in my shelves, but instructed the older girl each year to give a speech and counseling to the new ones. And in   
some memorable occasions I hadn't one in who to rely, I did it myself. And I've noted, after I've given some douses of   
Cinnamon Witches's Potion to a girl in pain, she becomes very much better-behaved in my class.   
Anyway, I remember cleaning the blood mess with my wand, and then leaning in my desk, embarrassed and almost   
laughing, not only in sarcasm but in relief.  
I smacked my head in the hard wood. Twice, at least.  
Dope.  
I was lucky to have straightened when Sera and Deimos entered charging into my room.  
- Madam Pomfrey shooed you out?- I grunted, still feeling bitterly amused.  
- Is she going to be fine?- Deimos blurted, his face blushed. Sera just lifted her expressive eyebrows in plea. They was   
so worried, that I could have wind them up to make up for my lack of dignity, but that would have been too petty, even   
for me.  
- She has a girl sickness, Mr. Malfoy. She would be fine.- I said, as calmly as I could. Deimos blinked, and suddenly I   
* saw * realization dawning in his face. He knew, of course, even if I wondered idly which would have been   
Narcissa's exact words in her explanation of bird and bees to her son, or, well, being Lucius Malfoy's wife, her   
explanation of the basilisk and the vultures.  
Sera was blinking with no realization dawning, even as I saw her brain trying to comprehend.  
Of course, I could bet Minerva, Frederick, or Mariah got, ever, two girls in the same year, which didn't have a clue   
about menstruation. I wondered if it would be the right thing to send her to Madam Pomfrey for explanation, but my   
pride was too hurt for it. So I decided to show the old hen I can be a good House Master, even of my stone-faced   
Sera.  
I should have known Sera hadn't a clue. She has been raised for that crazy aristocrat: no prizes to guessing the one   
exchange about her femininity she has received has been the order to wear dresses. But I'll indulge in Andrew   
Stanish-bashing in further chapters, even if everytime I think about the sick son of bitch, I have this urge to puke.  
I managed her to sit down, and offered her a damp cloth to clean her still blood-streaked face.  
I gathered my thoughts, and remembered all I could from a single class of Medical magic I maybe have slept through.  
- Every woman bleeds in certain days of the month. It is natural.- I blurted out, and saw her eyes slowly register the   
words.   
Please, before to cringe, please remember I was only five years into teaching, and since my Death Eater days my   
closest woman around has been McGonagall.   
- I don't.- she said, her blue eyes confused.  
- Children don't. They only start around this age.- I said.- Surely you will, soon.-  
She nodded, and I couldn't help but wanted to laugh. This was getting quickly ridiculous.  
- Phoebe will be fine, so.-  
- Yes. Tell Madam Pomfrey I sent you, and help her.- I finally sighed, defeated. I knew I couldn't explain that in the   
right way so suddenly, so I sent for a Human reproduction book the next day. Of course, my speech got better: but I   
never will forget those eyes, confused and surprised, staring into mine. Her eyes and Phoebe's eyes stayed with me,   
and I couldn't help but to develop an enormous fatherly, tender spot for them.  
They made me feel not only needed but also pivotal.  
And that night, I covered my eyes in shame and laughed at one of the silliest performances of my life.  
Dope.  
  
Ulysses and Deimos became friends through an accident, curvy road. They were day and night, sun and moon, and it   
took a long while for them to stop yelling each other to start to fully appreciate what they could give to each other.   
They were antithesis, and I think it were Sera and Phoebe who gave example to them, making the best of their   
differences. Deimos and Ulysses were rivals well into that second year, and I remember it was in the end of winter   
when they realized their mistakes, and how I remember it.   
They were carried into my office by the ear for a furious Fiona Sprout: they had ended an argument throwing each   
other pottered plants. She took points, but lent the detention to me, and I fell into them hard, absolutely done with   
their fighting. They didn't always fight, but sometimes their brawls got out of hand, and I was tired of having to   
always pry one of the other's neck. They had made several ineffective truces, in behalf of Phoebe, who was equally   
smitten with both, and of Terry, who liked the both a lot: but it was enough a caustic remark of Ulysses, a smart-assed   
comment of Deimos, and the brawl was served.  
Deimos was brilliant, vocal, charismatic, leader and kind. Bright blonde hair, soft tanned cheeks, the smile of a   
prince: my Deimos, angel. Ulysses was quiet, smart, too intelligent, too caustic, always aloof, insular. Raven black   
blue hair, pale skin, glasses over cold blue eyes, my Ulysses, his profile of evil vampire. And they, each one with the   
other's fist imprinted in the face, were sitting at my office, not looking each other.  
I sighed, and then smiled privately. Oh yes, that was just it.  
I know the method have been a bit extreme, but I had enough. So I showed them a very rare purple night-lily, gave   
them a tiny branch, and ordered them to go into the Forbidden Forest alone to get me a fresh plant.  
In the way they paled, I almost broke my resolve and laughed in their faces.  
And as soon as they went to collect their cloaks to go, I took a long sip of my best Invisibility Potion and hurried   
behind them. Of course, I wasn't to let them just be eat, not matter how annoying they were. In the other hand, maybe   
I would have let Potter... 


End file.
